


Turpentine

by gr8_rach



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Artist AU, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Reylo - Freeform, he's totally gonna draw her, is he gonna draw her, kylo is upset, kylo ren is a moody artist, rey is a writer, rey makes a big mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-29 21:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6393841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gr8_rach/pseuds/gr8_rach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A flash of dark hair and white, white skin, and Rey jumped to her feet, slinging her bag over her shoulder (she did have a class to get to), determined not to miss a single glimpse of him.</p><p>His arms were full of art supplies, easels, tubes of paint, brushes of all shapes and sizes, and jars of linseed oil and turpentine. A thick sweater covered his torso and most of his arms, but a thin strip of skin around his wrists showed paint smears in varying tones and shades of yellows, blues, and reds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DauntlessSubconscious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DauntlessSubconscious/gifts).



> I should be working on literally everything else, but mah girl Angie had a birthday recently and didn't tell me about it until afterwards. SO--as a late birthday gift, I'm humbly offering this Artist AU. It's the alternate universe I always wanted to see, written the way I'd like to read it. Hopefully someone else likes it, too.

She didn’t actually have any classes in this building. There was no real reason for her to be curled up on this bench in the corner, novel in hand, overstuffed bag at her feet. Students shuffling to and from classes could tell she was out of place here, but despite their bizarre looks, she kept coming back. 

The clock in the middle of the room chimed for the top of the hour, a lovely, melancholy sound, and students began to make their way out of classrooms, stretching arms and flexing fingers, squinting in the harsh, artificial light of the commons. 

This was the art building, and Rey had a fierce love for the atmosphere here.

As budding artists flitted through the halls, anxious to make their next classes as quickly as possible, Rey sat up straight, putting her feet down on the floor so she could see clearly through the crowd. 

A flash of dark hair and white, white skin, and Rey jumped to her feet, slinging her bag over her shoulder (she did have a class to get to), determined not to miss a single glimpse of him. His gait was uneven, almost threatening or even volatile, as if his very soul was a too-hot ember perpetually on the edge of bursting into a cloud of sparks. Thick tendrils of black hair snaked their way around the curves of his neck, the angles of his cheeks, falling onto his forehead like faithful worshippers at the altar of his soulful eyes. From this distance, Rey was sure they were black, but she yearned to see them up close. 

His arms were full of art supplies, easels, tubes of paint, brushes of all shapes and sizes, and jars of linseed oil and turpentine. A thick sweater covered his torso and most of his arms, but a thin strip of skin around his wrists showed paint smears in varying tones and shades of yellows, blues, and reds. On a truly lucky day, Rey would glimpse a corresponding smear of one of those colors on his cheek. She could imagine him, deep in thought, reaching up to push hair out of his face with a messy hand and forgetting in his concentration that he’d used it to test a color mix not seconds before.

She longed to ask him what he was working on, why his brow was furrowed in anxious concentration as he stalked down the hall some days and serene and smooth on others. He never stopped, though, and he never once looked her way in all the weeks they’d been occupying this small space together.

This must have been her lucky day, though. Today his path took him directly in front of her bench, and she panicked as she realized he was walking too quickly—he was going to catch her stretched up onto her tiptoes to see him. She tried to turn around to look busy, but in her haste, her bag hit something and she heard a low voice cry out in terrible anguish. Not a lucky day, then.

Her heart dropped into her stomach as the noise was followed by a crash. Slowly, Rey turned around, hoping against hope that she was not about to see what she was expecting. 

The only thought Rey had as she looked, for the first time, into the face of the man she’d been watching all these weeks was that infuriation looked lovely on him. His eyes, deep brown and not black, she noticed, smoldered with rage and his heavy features were pinched together in an expression of intense frustration. The rage on his face contrasted comically with the way he was awkwardly sprawled among all the things he’d dropped.

In front of her bench, the floor was covered in his paint supplies. A jar of turpentine, judging by the horrible smell, had broken open and was leaking onto the floor. But oh, the worst thing was the half-finished painting laying on the floor, the turpentine spilled across the middle of it. 

Rey dropped to her knees to help him pick up the things spilled all over the floor. She’d barely gathered a few things before he was lashing out, snatching them from her hands.

“No! Don’t touch anything. I think you’ve...helped," he spit the word at her, "me enough for today, don’t you think?” he said, his eyebrows pulled down tight over his eyes. His eyes lingered on hers for a moment before he jerked them away, reaching down to pick more things up. 

“I’m really so sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any problems!” Rey began, but he held up a finger and looked straight at her.

“You…..you’re not even an art student, are you? What are you doing here?!” he growled. 

She blushed and looked down and away from him. “I like to read here. That’s all.” 

He scoffed at her before turning back to his things on the ground. As he noticed the ruined painting, he let out a strangled yell.

“What? No! That’s my—Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.” he picked up the painting, studied it for a moment, and then threw it. Luckily, the hall was less crowded now that the next classes had begun, and he didn’t hit anyone. 

Rey, unsure of what to do, but sure that speaking wouldn’t be good, simply looked at him as he seethed. 

His chest heaved as he stared down the hallway, eyebrows heavy over his eyes, the blacks of the pupils blown so wide that her initial diagnosis concerning his eye color seemed accurate. Thick strands of his dark hair tangled in his fingers as he rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes for a moment. Once or twice, he turned as if to say something to her, but jerked in the middle of the movement, clenched his hands into fists, and turned away again.

After a few minutes, he seemed to collect himself well enough to continue gathering his things. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. That was my final project. The woman in that painting lives very far away. She—she can’t sit for me to do another one. There’s….there’s no time.” his shoulders slumped and the things he’d gathered in his arms fell to the floor once more. 

Rey dropped her bag onto the bench she’d been sitting on, opened it, and began pulling books out of it. Once it was empty, she knelt down next to the man, who was staring blankly at the floor next to the painting, and began to gather the supplies into it. The first gentle clink of paintbrushes broke his trance, and he turned to her, confused. For a moment, he just watched her, then he froze. His eyes were panicked.

“No—you’ll—the turpentine! It’ll ruin your bag!” he said, reaching out to take it from her. “It’s all over everything!” 

Rey held the bag up away from him and calmly continued to put his things into it.

“I’m so sorry that your painting is ruined. I wish there was something I could do to help, but I don’t know any painting-repair methods.” Rey looked up at his face for a moment, a small moment of bravery before she averted her eyes again. 

“I know I—well, overreacted is maybe an understatement—but I’m sorry if I frightened you.” 

“Maybe you did. A little. But it’s okay.” 

“You don’t have to give me your bag.” 

“I think it might help.” 

Once all of his things were packed up, she slung the bag over his shoulder and turned to gather her books up. There had to be a way to carry 6 lit textbooks in her arms, right?

“Wait—you can’t carry all those books yourself without a bag!” he looked confused, impressed, and strangely indignant. 

“I used to think you couldn’t carry an entire art classroom without a bag, but here you are.” Rey said, picking up the third book and stacking it on top of the other two, using her chin to stabilize the pile as she bent down again.

“My hands are free.” the man said, turning his palms up towards Rey. She must have looked puzzled, because he continued, “I mean, I’m already late to my next class. I could….I could help you. Carry your books.” 

Rey’s right eyebrow quirked up and her hands slipped, sending the book on top of the stack sliding towards the floor. Thin, white fingers snatched it out of the air before it could hit the ground. 

“Oh, fine.” she said, and reached down to pick up another, smaller book, as he picked the other three up. He looked at her, noting the fact that she still seemed to be struggling, and plucked a book off the top of her stack. Then he turned and walked down the hall.

“Wait! You don’t even know where I’m going!” Rey called, but he stopped, bent down, and picked the ruined painting up off the ground. The set of his shoulders tightened a little as he gazed at it for a moment, but they loosened as he turned to Rey and asked:

“Where are you going?” 

“Well—I, actually—home. I’m already late to my last class, and…” she said. “It’s a few blocks off campus. I understand if you can’t spare the time, I can just…” but he shook his head. 

“Lead the way.” he said. 

She did, and they weaved in and around the small crowds of people, through the art building and out onto the sidewalk. 

“You know, I don’t even know your name.” she said. “What is it?”

“Kylo Ren.” he said, lifting his arms to avoid hitting a small girl with the books and painting as she dashed by.

“I’m Rey.” she said. “Wait, you’re Kylo Ren?” she turned back towards the art building for a moment, searching mentally. “I saw your painting!” 

He frowned and looked down at her before turning in the direction she seemed to be looking.

“You know, the one with the girl and the sun in her hand?” 

He cringed. “That one—I don’t do fantasy or anything like that. It was an assignment.”

“Well, I thought it was fantastic.” she said, “She looks so delicate and soft. And the sun? So beautiful. You really have a gift.” 

His shoulders hunched for a moment and he looked off in the opposite direction. “You really spend a lot of time in there, don’t you?” 

A soft blush stained her cheeks and she ducked her head. “Yeah.”

“Why is that? Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in the literature building? I mean, I’m assuming you’re a lit major—all these lit textbooks…” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m English with an emphasis in writing but they still make you take all the dumb literature classes.” Her eyebrows pulled up together and she continued, “I’m not really…I don’t think the other students in my classes like me all that much. I used to study in that building but….all the whispering was distracting. The art building is so full! So many people. So bright.” 

He nodded thoughtfully. He understood the allure. 

“And all of you are creators, in a very real, socially accepted sense. Everybody tells me it’s stupid to major in writing because only a few writers ever actually make it in the business.” She sighed. “I’ve never seen anyone bother anyone else in the art building. It’s a comforting place to read….” she hesitated, blushing again, “and to watch people.” she said.

“Watch….people?” Kylo asked, frowning. “Were you…..watching….me?” he looked over at her, the beginnings of a smirk on his face. 

No longer a delicate pink, Rey’s blush spread all the way across her face and down her neck. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t. Embarrassment flooded through her.

“It’s okay if you were. I’ve been told I’m quite…comforting….to look at.” Kylo bumped her shoulder with his, and she looked up at him, trying to hide as much of her red face as possible behind the books in her arms. The scoundrel was smirking wide now, and the expression suited him so well that it brought on a resurgence of her blush. 

The two sidestepped around some girls standing in the middle of the sidewalk, talking loudly about some class they had together. Rey still couldn’t look at Kylo, and her face still felt too warm. 

The rest of the short walk was made in relative silence, with the exception of murmurs as Kylo guided her around groups of people. 

Rey abruptly stopped in front of her building, and Kylo’s arm brushed hers as he struggled to stop before he knocked all of the books out of her hands. The rough fabric of his sweater and the proximity of his skin burned her arm. 

“This—This is me.” she said, clearing her throat. 

“You probably need help carrying your stuff up, right?” Kylo said. Rey nodded, rushing forward to open the door to the building. The rubber soles of his sneakers squeaked on the tiled floor as he walked towards the elevator, but Rey hissed quietly and jerked her head towards the ominous-looking door on the other side of the lobby.

Kylo frowned, clearly confused, but she shook her head and motioned for him to follow her. The heavy door groaned as she pushed it open, first with the flat of her hand, and then with her hips. 

Around her, she watched him study the flights and flights of unforgiving concrete steps, narrow and steep. He slid past her through the doorway, holding the books up over her head to make room for both of their bodies in the small space. Her hip brushed the top of his warm thigh, and she closed her eyes, swallowing tightly before moving away and allowing the door to slide shut. 

Kylo hesitated before walking up the stairs ahead of her, and they marched up three flights before Rey reached in front of him to open another ominous-looking door and stepped into a hallway, lit by windows at either end and dim, yellow lights in between. Her door was the first one. 

She fumbled with her keys for a moment before turning to him and raising one eyebrow.

“So….would you like to come in?” she said.


	2. Chapter 2

Kylo had to lean down to step through her small doorframe. He put a hand on it, swinging himself through and looking around the room with a curious eye. It seemed larger than it probably was because of the windows, open and wide, the warm yellow fabric of the curtains pulled back and tied with a piece of what looked like twine. 

A small, floral patterned couch sat under one of the windows, threadbare but sturdy. Near it, a small coffee table, the blue paint faded, groaned under the weight of a stack of textbooks, some literature, some suspiciously science-y. Kylo guessed she must have a roommate. 

The room opened into a kitchen, with cheerful tiling and a modest dining table. A small bunch of wildflowers sat on the counter next to the sink, which was empty save for a bowl and a spoon. The cabinets were a terribly drab shade of brown compared to the random splashes of color in the room; a pink towel draped over the arm of the oven door, a postcard with a picture of the ocean on the fridge, a yellow bowl in the middle of the table filled with fruit. 

Rey walked in ahead of him, kicking her shoes off by the coffee table and using her toes to nudge the socks off as well. Her bare feet made soft slapping noises as she walked across the tile, headed towards the kitchen table. Kylo watched her, smiling. She lifted up onto her toes and reached over a chair to set her books down. The edge of her shirt climbed up towards the waistband of her pants, almost uncovering a sliver of skin, but in the end leaving her still modest. 

She let her feet drop flat against the floor, and Kylo hastily averted his eyes to the fruit bowl.

“Are you…hungry?” Rey asked, lingering by fruit on the table once she noticed him looking at it. She picked up an orange, eyes steady on him despite the lovely pink blush staining her cheeks. He couldn’t help thinking that Rey would make an excellent subject for a painting. Her features were delicate and firm, almost…orderly, the arch of her eyebrows pointing towards the straight slope of her small nose, which fit neatly into the soft curve of her mouth while the corners of her lips reached up to her cheekbones. Her hair fell in soft waves around her face, brown and warm. His fingers itched to pull out his pencil and sketchbook, to document this symmetry. 

He was staring at her, he realized, and he cleared his throat, looking down at the books in his hands and walking towards her. Her face seemed curious, still pink.

“I’m…I’m okay.” he said, carefully piling the books in his hands next to the ones she’d placed on the table. He took a long look at the ruined painting before resting it carefully next to them. He readjusted the bag over his shoulder and then placed it on one of the chairs. 

“Are you sure? It’s just an orange. I can share.” Her eyes were mirthful.

He looked at her a long moment, thinking, and then finally reached for the orange. Their fingers brushed and he tried to ignore the burning that the small contact caused at the back of his neck. He peeled the orange carefully, keeping it in one piece.

“Thank you.” he said, his voice quiet. Rey smiled and leaned her hips back against the chair. 

The soft snick of a door opening made them both turn their heads.

“Hey Phasma!” Rey said, pushing off of the chair and waltzing towards her. Kylo watched Rey, her every movement a practice in unrefined strength and while still managing to be gentle and non-threatening.

Phasma smiled gently and gestured towards Kylo. “Who is this?” she said.

Kylo shifted, folding his hands in front of him, hunching his shoulders. “I’m Kylo Ren.” he said.

“He walked me home after I ruined his painting and spilled all of his stuff.” Rey said.

Phasma laughed, throwing her head back, the blonde silk of her short hair tossing across her forehead.

“Were you in the art building again?” Phasma said, giving Rey a stern look. “Were you looking for—”

Rey made a high-pitched shrieking noise, cutting Phasma off before she could finish. Phasma only looked confused for a moment, and then her eyes flew back to Kylo. He felt uncomfortable as Phasma stared at him, and then her eyes widened. 

“He’s—oh, Rey.” Phasma said. 

“Hey didn’t you have, like, anything else to be doing right now?” Rey said, her face bright pink and she wouldn’t look at Kylo. 

He knew then, that she’d been studying in the art building for the atmosphere, but also somehow for him. He was equal parts flattered and perplexed. 

“I’ll just get my lunch and go back into my room. You two have fun!” Phasma said, giving Rey a not-so-subtle wink on her way back to her room from the fridge. 

There was an awkward moment of silence in which Kylo was unsure about whether or not to make eye contact with Rey. She stood next to the table, a chair between them, and reached out a finger to trace the edge of the ruined canvas. 

“What will you do?” she said. Her eyes flickered up to meet his. Her voice was quiet.

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

“It’s ruined. You don’t have time to redo it. It’s your final project.”

“It’s only half finished. I’m sure I’ll figure something else out.” 

“Who is she?” Rey asked, and Kylo watched her look down at the rough outline of the woman’s face. 

“She’s my mother.” he said. His eyes closed and he sighed, heavy and sad. 

“Oh no!” Rey said, and she buried her face in her hands. “I’m so sorry, Kylo.” she said. 

“I’d say it wasn’t your fault,” Kylo said, and Rey looked up, her face pinched with surprise, or maybe embarrassment, “but it really was. How long have you been watching me?” 

“I—I wasn’t watching you!”

He raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything. Rey didn’t speak either, and they stared at each other, Rey’s cheeks flushed.

“Fine! I’ve been watching you for a few weeks. I started studying in the art building because I wanted to get away from all the…lit majors.”

“But aren’t you a lit major?” he said. 

“Yeah. But I want to write. Apparently that’s a silly thing to aspire to in a place where we all study authors and the best of the best literature out there.” Rey sighed.

Kylo nodded. “So. Why did you start watching me?” 

“Have you ever thought about maybe bringing a bag for all of your,” she waved her hand in his direction, “art crap? Because a big, tall guy carrying _all_ of his stuff in his arms is actually pretty eye-catching.”

“So now it’s _my_ fault that you knocked all of my stuff out of my arms?” Kylo said, the smirk on his face somehow managing to make him look boyish and impish at the same time. 

“No! No, that’s not what I meant.” Rey said, closing her eyes and rubbing her nose with the pads of her fingers. “I’m so sorry for that.” 

“It’s…well, I’m not going to say it’s not a big deal, because—it is. But I’ll figure something out.” Kylo closed his eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to redo a project; his temper had been the downfall of many nearly-finished works.

“Can’t you just reuse your reference photos or sketches or whatever?” she said. 

Kylo laughed, a short, harsh sound. “Well, actually. I did most of the ground work in person, so I didn’t take a reference photo. I prefer not to, if I can manage it. Having the figure in front of me is better.” 

“So….you can’t redo it.” Rey said. 

“Um. Not really.” Kylo said, looking down at the painting, tracing the spots where her fingers had been. A thought burned in his mind, and he was suddenly overcome by burning nervousness. “But I’m surrounded by art students who need favors and models. I’m sure one of them could be persuaded to give me a hand. Unless….” 

“Unless what? Will you have time?” she said.

“If I hurry.” 

Rey nodded. He thought for a moment, feeling shy and unsure. 

“Unless….you’d be willing to help me.” He refused to look at her, instead retracing the edges of the painting. 

“Help you…..how?” she said.

“You could….sit for me. If you have the time, of course.” Kylo chanced a glance up at her. She was pink again.

“Of course!” she said. “If that’s what you need, of course I’ll help you. I’m the one who got you into this mess.” 

“To be fair, I probably should invest in a bag.” Kylo said, grinning at her. His shoulders relaxed and he let his fingers trail off the edge of the painting. 

“While I agree with that statement, I still feel I should help you. And offer you the use of my bag until you can find a replacement.” she gestured towards her bag, full of his supplies. 

“Honestly, I should just find you a new bag—this one has all that turpentine spilled all over it, so it’ll smell awful probably forever. But I will graciously accept your help. Although I should get started as soon as possible.” Kylo said. “Like, in the next couple of days.” 

Rey bit her lip, looking at the pile of her books on the table. “I hate to ask—but can we work something out so that I can read while you’re painting? I have all of my midterms in the next couple of weeks.” 

“Uh—yeah. I’m sure I can figure something out for you. Let me think about some poses and settings and….I can get back to you about it.” 

Rey nodded and walked over to the counter next to the fridge, pulling a small pad and pen out of the top drawer and scribbling on it as she walked back to him. 

“I’d bet you don’t believe in cell phones, since you obviously don’t believe in simplifying your life at all,” she looked up at him, a sweet smile on her face, “so here’s my cell phone number.” 

She ripped the paper away from the pad and held it out to him. He studied it and reached out for it, letting his long fingers fold around hers as grasped it, relishing in the way her eyes widened just a little bit. Once he’d taken it, he folded it up, crisp and sharp, and put it in his back pocket next to his cell phone. 

He wished he could sit here among her bright colors and cheery smiles forever. There was a spot right next to the window that would probably have just the perfect light for sketching, and he wondered if the door beyond it led to her bedroom. Above the chair in the corner near her door, a clock ticked away, and Kylo cursed himself for staying so much longer than he’d planned. 

“I should probably get back to class.” he said. 

A small frown flitted across her face before she nodded and smiled. “Of course! I’ve made you so late for class. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize.” Kylo said, running his fingers over the strap of the bag before slinging it over his shoulder and picking up his painting. A pang of sadness hit him as he looked at the ruined surface. 

At least he’d been able to gain a new friend. 

Kylo wasn’t overly fond of people and usually preferred to be alone. It was easier that way—he often painted all day and into the odd hours of the night, forgot to eat, couldn’t sleep, and made a ridiculous mess of his room throwing things around looking for a certain paintbrush or a rag. His mood sometimes required a specific type (and volume) of music, and his roommate had, a while ago, left a package on his bed, a pair of old-school noise-blocking headphones. Now when he painted he did so with his hair trapped back behind them, music blaring as loud as he liked directly into his ears. 

Kylo knew he was the stereotypical moody artist, and for that reason he usually shied away from getting close to others.

But Rey, with her golden-green eyes and the soft glow of her smile…he found himself intrigued. 

He walked across the room, wrapping a hand around her doorknob and turning to smile at her again. 

“I’ll call you later? Probably tonight. I’ve got to talk to my professor before I decide anything.” 

Rey nodded. “I’ll be here.” 

He opened the door, reaching up a hand again to keep his head from knocking into the door frame and turned to take one more look at her, her slouchy jeans, faded t-shirt, and bare feet making her the picture of everything welcoming and lovely he’d ever known.

He nodded at her and left, closing the door behind him. The click of the latch was deafening in the dim, quiet hallway.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, yes, I'm back. This fic started getting attention again, and I've always been torn up about never finishing it! So here I am, finishing it. It's going to be much shorter than I planned initially, but I think it should still be fulfilling. If you're still here, thank you. Sorry for the wait.

Despite his expectations, Kylo made it just in time for the last 20 minutes of his class. He chose an easel in the very back, hoping to avoid becoming a terrible distraction to the rest of the students, who were all quietly working on their final projects. 

His advisor, the professor for the class, raised his eyebrows and heaved himself up from his desk. Kylo grimaced as he watched him move, stilted and awkward, heavily favoring one side. WIth a huff, Kylo set out his paints and then his canvas, rubbing a hand over his face as he remembered that he would have to paint double time, somehow, with oils, to finish this project in time. 

And that was only if Rey turned out to be still enough to paint. 

Luke sidled up to Kylo’s easel, tutting as he spotted the damage done. “Kylo, what on earth happened?” 

Kylo flushed and hung his head, strands of his hair falling into his eyes and hiding Luke from his view. “Someone ran into me and a jar of turpentine got smeared all over and...well.” 

“Have you thought of how to proceed?” 

“I...the girl who ruined it. She offered to sit for me.” 

“That will be quite an endeavor. You are still planning to use oils?” 

“I had intended to, yes. This one,” Kylo trailed his fingers along the side of the canvas, grazing the very edge of his mother’s cheek with the tip of one. “This one is oil.” 

“Ah, but that doesn’t mean that this new one should be. I trust you, Kylo. You are my best student, and your creative vision hardly ever fails you. If you think you can do it, I think you can do it.” 

Kylo nodded, pulling his canvas off the easel and replacing it with a sketchbook. Painting Rey was going to be a different sort of challenge, a different feeling. He studied the space of the page first, moving in with sweeping strokes to map out the shape of her body, leaning back and tilting his head. He narrowed the curve of her hips, sharpened her jaw, focused in and with a few strokes captured the movement of her hair, the gentle wisps around her temples. 

“Kylo?” 

Kylo jumped, turning to Luke. He’d forgotten Luke was behind him. “Yes?” 

“Keep me updated on your progress. Don’t get….distracted.” 

The tips of Kylo’s ears burned, and he ducked his head again. “Oh, please. It’s not like she’s going to try and seduce me or whatever.” 

Luke chuckled and Kylo lifted his head just in time to watch his eyebrows rise. “I didn’t say anything about seducing, Ben.” 

“Luke!” Kylo hissed, glancing around frantically. “Don’t.” 

“Right, right. Your artist name. Don’t let this girl seduce you, _Kylo_ , or you’ll never pass.” 

He walked away, hands behind his back and an almost loving twinkle in his eye. 

Kylo spent the rest of the class sketching Rey from memory in different poses. He cursed himself for not remembering her exact features exactly—how had he never noticed her sitting in the art building? How many times had he walked past her without seeing her, those thoughtful eyes trained on him. 

It kept slipping away from him the longer he sat here without a good view of her. Frustrated, he huffed and chucked a pencil away, earning a hiss from the woman sitting in front of him. Without any real ire, Kylo’s lip curled in her direction. He was already pulling his phone out, composing a text message to Rey. 

[Kylo] 4:43 PM : uh can you maybe send me a picture of you or something?

[Rey] 4:44 PM: excuse u? 

[Kylo] 4:44 PM: sorry

[Kylo] 4:45 PM: I know that sounds weird and invasive out of context

[Kylo] 4:45 PM: I talked to my advisor and now I’m working on brainstorming sketches, but I’m having a hard time without some sort of something of you

[Rey] 4:46 PM: wow that is the most elaborate excuse i’ve ever gotten for nudes

Kylo blushed down at his phone, covering his mouth with an upside down palm to prevent any undignified squeaking noises from escaping in the quiet room. Self-conscious anyway, he looked up only to find Luke looking directly at him with a pointed expression on his face. The squeak escaped. 

[Kylo] 4:48 PM: Oh, please. That’s the most insulting thing I’ve ever heard. Not all art is gratuitous paintings of pretty naked women. Did I say you needed to send me nude photos? 

[Rey] 4:48 PM: so u think i’m pretty?

Kylo covered his gasp with a fake cough, which turned into an unfortunately real coughing fit. 

[Kylo] 4:50 PM: can you just have your roommate snap something quick now? I can’t get the curve of your arms right. 

[Rey] 4:50 PM: yeah sure give me a minute

[Rey] 4:52 PM: _media message attached_

[Rey] 4:53 PM: _media message attached_

For a full minute after he opened the messages, Kylo just stared at his phone. The pictures Rey had sent were...breathtaking. The first was a sort of candid (though he knew it couldn’t be completely candid, given the nature of his request), a shot of Rey standing in her doorway with her back to him. She’d just gotten out of the shower, a long, fluffy towel wrapped around her middle, one arm clutched around it for security. Her hair dripped down her bare back, wet and sleek. And her back, oh hell. Kylo covered his mouth again. It was beautifully shaped; the bones of her shoulder blades begged to be touched, sketched, rendered lovingly in the glowing light coming off of the window to her right. 

The second photo was Rey, a few moments later, most likely, but closer up. Her face was split into a wide, sunny smile, dimples tucked into her cheeks. The warm brown of her eyes glittered with mirth.

For a moment, Kylo closed his eyes. He could see a vague outline of the finished painting now, in his mind. It would be a regal affair, perhaps with Rey stretching one of her arms up, a hip tilted. A winning smile stretched across her face...

No, no. That would be too. Something. Not right. He tried again.

Rey laying on the floor, maybe some kind of plush carpet. One eyebrow arched up at him. 

Yes! Kylo started sketching furiously, turning back to his phone and studying the photo closely to catch the curve of her hip through the towel. He set the phone back down and turned to his sketchbook, frowning when he spotted the sketch of Rey laying. He turned back to his phone, growling under his breath when he had to unlock his phone to see the picture. 

He’d been drawing Rey with a carefree set to her body, a lightness in her frame. He could see now, on closer study, that Rey unguarded was not carefree or light. There was a sad lilt to her spine, tragedy basted along each bony knob, baked into her bones. All at once, Kylo could see it in her eyes, too, as he flipped to the next picture. The grin seemed a little too wide, a little too stiff. The smile in her eyes went deep, but deeper still was a well of sadness. 

And Kylo, a man who had never been able to hide his sadness, his anger, his tragedy, felt his soul reaching out to Rey. When his pencil touched the paper again, he sketched a few sweeping lines quickly. 

Rey, from behind, arms wrapped around her front, shoulders hunched in, spine bowed straight. Her face turned to the side, exposing her profile. His pencil lingered along those troubled, sorrowful brows, the pout of her lower lip. 

There. That was it. 

The room was empty by the time he tore his eyes away from the paper and checked his phone for the time. A message from Rey waited on his lockscreen, twelve minutes old. 

[Rey] 5:10 PM: I hope those photos helped. Even if they’re not quite nudes.

Kylo smiled to himself, clicked on her contact and lifted the phone to his ear instead of texting back. 

“Kylo,” she said, and her voice was warm, filling Kylo to the edges of his soul. 

“Yeah,” he said, suddenly unable to make his heart say anything else, breathing a lifetime of weight and expectation and _relief_ into that single word. 

“Did you talk to your advisor?” 

Right. “Yeah, I did, and I sketched out some pose ideas. Would it be alright if you came over so that I could get started on some preliminary ideas and maybe draping? Posing?” 

Rey laughed, pretty and low over the speaker. “I only understood maybe four of those words. Where do you live?” 

Kylo rattled off the address, and just before she signed off, he remembered— “Rey, wait!” 

“Yes?” 

“Do you,” his face burned through the phone, “do you have any backless dresses?” 

“I—” Kylo’s ears set fire, why did he suggest such a—

“I do, I’ll bring it.” 

“Oh. Okay. Yeah. See you in a few.” 

It’s a university town, so everyone lives close, which meant that Kylo had approximately fifteen minutes or less to beat Rey home and clean up the hellhole that served as his art studio. 

In the end it took him ten minutes to get home, saved by Rey’s turpentined bag. He raced up the stairs, into the spare bedroom and immediately began picking up cans and old wrappers. The old pair of underwear in the corner, endless expanses of worn, dirty hoodies. Once he deemed the room acceptable, he rushed downstairs, hollering as he went. Hux had to have some sort of food, something to drink, put together as he was. 

“Hux! Do you have any foo—” Kylo skidded to a stop on the wood floor in front of the door, where Rey stood. She was clutching a bag in front of her, shifting with a small smile on her face. They just stared at each other for a moment, Rey’s eyes wide and uncertain. 

Hux poked his head out of the bedroom off the entryway. His expression was, as ever, bored and vaguely disapproving. 

“Yes, I have food, although if you’d stopped to ask first, you’d know she’s already eaten.” 

Rey grimaced, her shoulders folding in. “I’d never say no to a snack.” 

Hux rolled his eyes, slinking back through the crack in the door. Before it shut, he spoke one last time. “I got some of that ginger ale you like. In the fridge.”

Kylo flushed red, turning to Rey. 

“Ah, my studio is upstairs.” 

“Okay,” she said, twisting the handle of the bag. He led the way once he realized she wasn’t going to move until he did. 

Up, up the stairs, Kylo tried not to think about what he looked like from behind and below. Was he walking awkwardly? Of course he was, Kylo had never been sure about what to do with the excess length of his limbs. He pushed the door to his studio open with something like relief, standing to the side to allow her to enter. 

“Make yourself at home, I’ll go grab some food and stuff. Is ginger ale okay?” 

Rey nodded, turning away to look at the rest of the room.

He raced downstairs, grabbed a plate, a package of crackers, and some cheese Hux had probably cut up for his lunches. Two ginger ales, and then he was racing back up the stairs. It would be just his luck for Rey to find something embarrassing while she was alone. 

When he got back, Rey had found her way across the room to where the destroyed painting of his mother sat. She had one finger tracing the edge of the ruined patch, her face pensive. 

Kylo, instead of opening his mouth to speak like he’d planned, tried to set the drinks down on the little table in the middle of the room quietly. The clink they made as they touched the wood startled Rey, who dropped her hand and turned around abruptly, her eyes wide and her expression overwhelmingly open. 

“I’m sorry, I just—”

Kylo shook his head and held out his hand. “Don’t! It’s fine. You’ve seen it before and it’s not like you can do any more damage to it,” he said. 

Rey frowned and Kylo realized what he’d said. “No! Not like—it’s fine. I was just saying, I’m not worried. I trust you.” At this, Rey’s entire face softened, like she’d been given a gift, like Kylo had just said something unbearably kind instead of fumbling a reassurance. 

They stared at each other for a moment, long enough for Kylo’s cheeks to get warm. 

“I brought the—” She held up her bag, a blush on her face. 

‘Ah, thanks. Um. There’s a bathroom in the hall, if you would change for me. And then we can get started.” 

Rey nodded, left the room with the bag clutched tight between her tense fingers. Kylo decided to get set up while she was gone, ready to sketch and maybe start painting tonight. He’d have to, he figured, if he wanted to finish an oil painting in time for the deadline. 

Luckily, he had an idea for colors, he’d figured out the pose already, and secured approval from Luke. Dark colors, he thought, to contrast the milky color of her, and maybe some red. Fleetingly, he hoped her dress would be red, that would be a nice touch. The thought of her in black was just as enticing. 

He was setting up a spare canvas when Rey came back into the room, in a pale colored dress. The color suited her more than Kylo could have expected. It draped and fell in soft folds down to her mid-thigh, wrapping tight around her torso and up around her neck. She bit her lip as he stared, doing a small twirl, pausing with her back to him. 

Kylo’s mouth went dry. The back of the dress was, as he had asked, left open, but he wasn’t prepared for the smooth skin of her back, muscles and curves. The strong set of her shoulders he’d seen in her picture, but the softness in the small of her back was new and breathtaking. He chanced a look up at her face, biting back a curse. She had her head turned, looking at him over her shoulder, teeth still pressed into her lower lip, her eyes vulnerable. 

For fun, he would have to do another painting. He would have to paint her like this, with this innocence, the vulnerability dripping from her frame like syrup. 

“It’s. It’s perfect. Thank you,” he said in a whisper. She flushed, nodding and turning towards him, hands pressed, fluttery and delicate, to her belly. 

“If you’ll come stand over here,” he said, gesturing towards the drop cloth waiting in the corner of the room near all his windows. Heavy, floor length drapes covered each of them. Large lights on spindly-looking stands stood around each side of the white space. Rey looked at them fearfully, but Kylo knew they wouldn’t fall on her, no matter how terrifying they looked. He’d gotten them from thrift shops, consignment sales, even found one of them in a forgotten corner of the theater. These were old, sturdy lights. 

Rey stood in the middle of the white space, looking at Kylo, shifting from foot to foot. Her toes were bare, painted a light tan color. They wiggled as she stood there, waiting for Kylo to instruct her. 

“I’d, uh. I’d like you to face the other way.” 

She turned, looking back at him over her shoulder again. “Like this?” 

“Yes,” he said, swallowing a little and willing his voice to be steady. Why was he being like this? He’d worked with plenty of models. Plenty of pretty ones, too. Rey was no different (except that she was). “Wrap your arms around yourself, please,” 

Rey frowned, he could see her eyebrows draw up, her lips pursing. Slowly, she brought her arms up, hovering around the sides of her before settling onto her shoulders tentatively. Anxiety pooled in the sharp corners of her, giving her an edge that Kylo didn’t particularly love. 

“Uh, this?” 

Kylo frowned, tilting his head. “No, lower, I think.” 

She wrapped her arms straight around her waist, bunching the sides of the dress beneath her fingers. 

“Oh, no, gentler with your fingers.” She relaxed them, but Kylo still wasn’t satisfied. “Maybe, lower? So your hands rest on your hips?” 

Her head turned sharper towards him, but she complied, wrapping her arms lower, resting her fingertips around the swell of each hip. It was almost…

“A little higher, actually.” 

Her fingers moved a fraction of an inch upward, and the frown between her eyebrows was back. Kylo found himself taking a step forward involuntarily. “No, like—here, let me.” He took a deep breath and then reached out, pulling her hands up with as gentle a touch as he could manage. He could feel her eyes on his face, but he refused to look at her, instead focusing on smoothing the sharp angles of her knuckles into something melancholy. 

“There,” he said, letting the backs of his fingers run along hers, an unconscious gesture of affection, of approval. Too late, he realized what he’d done, and he snapped his carefully averted gaze up just in time to see her eyes flutter closed, a blush painted high on her cheeks. He’d have to remember the way that looked. 

“Ah, sorry.” 

“ ‘sokay,” she mumbled, her voice rough.

“Um, if you’ll—” he brought his hands up, hesitating to initiate physical contact again, “if you’ll just turn your head to the side.” 

She looked at him, but the angle was too jagged, he needed it softer. Natural. With a soft inhale, he reached out to guide her neck into place. 

“To the side, not looking at me. Like you’re looking sort of down, but with your head up still.” 

One last—he pressed his forefinger under her chin to draw it up. The line of it needed to be elegant, regal even. 

He stepped back, frowned, and stepped in again. Whispered, “if you just, will you tilt your chin down a little, sorry.” She complied, and when Kylo stepped back, his breath caught. 

That was it. 

“Okay, hold still. Let me take a picture so we don’t forget the pose.” With his phone, he lined up the shot and took a couple from different angles, to remember each carefully posed detail. 

He fiddled with the lights, opening and closing the drapes before ultimately deciding that with as many sessions as they’d need to do, he wouldn’t be able to rely on the natural light being consistent enough. He settled for the light coming down towards her face, the way it had in the photo she’d sent. 

Another picture with his phone, to catch the angle of the light (though he wasn’t sure he could ever forget this). 

Behind his canvas, he picked up the pencil to sketch the bold strokes of her for the base, but paused. 

“Ah, your hair?” 

“What about it?” Rey’s voice was still rough, but she didn’t move. 

“Do you have pins or a band in your bag?” 

“Uh, no,” she said. At her waist, her fingers twitched. 

“I think I do, just a second,” Kylo said. He got up and ventured into the bathroom, where he located a few bobby pins and some hair gel. He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do with her hair, but he needed it off her face and preferably off her neck. Maybe a braid? 

“You can relax your neck and look forward,” he said, gathering her hair off her neck, running his fingers through it to untangle any knots. Squirting a little bit of gel between his fingers, he rubbed it together and then worked it through her hair at the front. Satisfied that it would hold, he separated a section near her part, divided it into three parts, and began braiding, bringing sections of hair into the braid as he went. Carefully, he wrapped it around the curve of her head. For a moment, he considered stopping at the nape of her neck and pulling the rest into a ponytail, but the softness of her hair and the exhilaration of being so close to her won out. Gathering the three strands into one hand, he squirted a little bit of gel into his hand and rubbed it into the free strands on the other side of her hair. Then he wiped the excess gel onto his pants and continued braiding, curling the french braid around her head, close to her ear and then up, smoothing more gel onto the ends and braiding the loose pieces, wrapping them around the beginning of the braid and pinning the whole thing in place with a few bobby pins. He stepped back, tilted her head sideways and nodded to himself. Off her neck. Regal. 

Rey looked at him, her eyes wide, her fingers trembling. Trying to reassure her, he touched the top of her bare shoulder, but her eyes didn’t look any calmer as they flicked down to where his fingers rested. 

After repositioning her head, he moved back to his canvas and began sketching in silence. He could see Rey bending and unbending her knees, trying to keep herself from moving too much. Some soft music would help with that, or maybe conversation? Kylo bit his lip as he tried to decide, and then Rey made the choice for him. 

“What,” she began, clearing her throat quietly when the word came out hoarse, “what did your advisor say?” 

Kylo paused where he was focused on the curve of her calf. “He understood, it wasn’t your fault or mine.” 

Rey’s head moved slightly, like she was going to nod and then remembered better. “I’m...glad. Who is your advisor?” 

“Luke Skywalker.” He leaned in closer to render the pearls of her little toes. She’d unconsciously tilted her feet inward, and the effect was so charming that he didn’t have the heart to ask her to move it. 

“Luke Skywalker? _The_ Luke Skywalker?” 

“Uh, yeah?” 

“I’m an art history minor! I took a modern art class—” 

Kylo couldn’t help his scoff. “That’s not an art history class,” he mumbled, but Rey continued undeterred. 

“He’s a legend in the art community, already. My professor said he’s made history before it’s old enough to call history. His exhibit featured at Cambridge University won all sorts of awards, and excellent reviews. I went to see it when I was in school for a trip, and it just. Wow. And you get to work with him on your own art. Incredible.” 

“Annoying, to be honest,” Kylo countered. “Especially when he’s my uncle, as well.” 

To her credit, Rey’s only gesture of surprise was to flex up onto her toes. “Your uncle?” 

“Yeah,” Kylo said. “My uncle.” 

“I...didn’t know. Now I’m embarrassed. I’ve been gushing about him and you eat Christmas dinner together.” 

“You didn’t know, don’t be embarrassed. I understand the hype. And he’s been a good mentor to me while I’ve been here.” In a moment of strange vulnerability he added, “and...we’re not really the sort of family to get together for dinner all that often.”

There was silence for a few moments, and Kylo took that time to sketch Rey’s face. She had a sort of smooth melancholy etched over the half of her face he could see, and he quite liked the way it looked. 

“What about your family,” he asked, laying down fluid strokes for her braided hair. “Where do they live?” 

The silence stayed, and Rey’s expression deepened. “They….I don’t have any family.” 

“I’m...sorry, Rey.”

“No, don’t be. It’s like you said. You didn’t know.” 

As she finished speaking, Kylo finished the last lines on his sketching. “Do you have time for me to maybe paint a little bit?” 

“What time is it?” 

“It’s just after 8 o’clock.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I have time.” 

“Alright. Just hold still a little longer.” 


End file.
